


God Jul (Or Something Approaching It)

by vix_spes



Category: Rejseholdet | Unit One
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: They're Rejseholdet ... of course that means even their Jul celebration can't pass without incident.





	God Jul (Or Something Approaching It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoJa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJa/gifts).



> Joja, thank you for your wonderful prompt with this. You were supposed to get this about a week ago but I couldn't get it to sound right. Still, it's done and I hope you enjoy it!

It had been going so well. They’d had a good year, closed a lot of cases and, as a result, the powers that be had decided to splash out for Jul. Either that or Palsby had recently had a personality transplant. Still, none of the Rejseholdet team was complaining. Instead of the shitty little bar that they usually frequented with Gaby and Ingrid turning their noses up at the drink selection and wincing every time their feet stuck to the floor, thus year they had a fully stocked boat bar in Nyhavn. There was a distant hubbub of people attending the festive market, but it didn’t impinge on their celebration, merely added to the atmosphere. Significant others had been invited and, as it was for a private event, Ingrid had even brought her children. The women were cooing over how pretty everything looked with the boat strung with warmly glowing lights, but Fischer was more interested in the good selection and quality of beer available as well as the fact that La Cour was finally looking rested.

The two of them had been gingerly negotiating the move from colleagues and friends to lovers, all the while without affecting either their friendship, the team dynamic or the tenuous relationships with their ex’s. Somehow, they had managed it and it was working. More than it, it was working well. Both men were happy – happier than they had ever been with their ex’s – and the whole team had both commented on it and were delighted by it. For their part, both Fischer and La Cour had been pleasantly surprised by how easy they had found it to make the switch from friends to lovers.

Leaning back against the rails of the boat, Fischer took a long swig of his beer and looked across the dock to where La Cour was standing with Ingrid, gesticulating as he spoke. The soft warmth of the tiny lights highlighted the angles of La Cour’s face, painting him in light and shadows. Fischer was struck with the sudden urge to kiss his partner. They didn’t have any specific rules about public displays of affection but, given that they both tended to be very private people, they were never very overt about their relationship, even in front of the team. Still, it was Jul and all that; if you couldn’t kiss your boyfriend in front of your friends at Jul, when could you?

Fischer was just about to cross the deck and kiss La Cour when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a commotion outside a restaurant on the quay. He was all prepared to ignore it; he was off-duty after all and that was what the bloody Politiet was for. And then there was a shout, the unmistakeable sound of a gun being fire and a man started running down the quay, heading straight past the boat that they were on.

Off-duty or not, Fischer didn’t think twice.  

Dropping his beer, and briefly lamenting its loss – it had been good beer -, he sprinted up the gangplank and raced after the culprit. The man was quick, but Fischer was quicker – he hadn’t been entirely successful in persuading La Cour to give up running for lazy mornings in bed – and had caught up with him in minutes. Unfortunately, the man was determined to not be taken in easily and struggled when Fischer tackled him, the momentum taking both of them into the freezing cold waters of Nyhavn. Fischer surfaced with a string of expletives and gasping for breath but still managed to grab the man and inform him that he was under arrest, struggling towards the harbour wall as he did so.

Fischer running off hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of his team and, by the time that he reached the harbour wall, they were there waiting along with several members of the Politiet. Multiple hands reached down and pulled the suspect out of the water, the man immediately being taken into custody while a very familiar set of hands reached down as, wrapping arms around him, La Cour hauled him out of the water where Fischer was immediately surrounded by his fussing team. He allowed them to escort him back to the boat, where he was ushered downstairs.

An attempt was made to find him towels to dry off but was utterly unsuccessful and, thanks to his team being more than a little drunk and egging each other on, Fischer found himself instead buried in just about every single woollen item that could be found on the boat; jumpers, coats, about six scarves and three hats until he looked like a giant woolly mountain. The only upside was that Johnny saw fit to hand him a pint which he took a sip of while everybody laughed at the picture that he made. It was only when he started to shiver, minute trembles shaking his form despite all the clothes he was wearing, that La Cour insisted on taking him home and getting him warm.

It didn’t take them long to get to the flat that had once been La Cour’s – and that they now shared – and Fischer found himself summarily stripped and bullied into the shower before he was bundled into dry sweats and onto the sofa. La Cour murmured about finding something before disappearing and reappearing minutes later.

“Helved, what is that thing?” Fischer burst out laughing at the mass of woollen fabric in La Cour’s fabric.

“It’s a jumper. It was actually supposed to part of your Jul present.”

Fischer snorted as he unravelled the mass of fabric, noticing that it was lumpy in a few places and was a mismatch of colours. “Why would you pick this for me? Why would you think I’d wear it?”

“Well, considering the amount of time that I spent on it, I was hoping that you’d wear and like it for that simple reason.”

Fischer choked on his beer. “You made this? You actually made this? Thomas, when did you take up knitting?”

“A while ago,” was the reluctant answer.

“You are bloody lucky I love you,” Fischer groused as he set his beer aside and pulled the eyesore on, as Thomas took a seat next to him. As horrific as it looked, he couldn’t deny that the jumper was warm, and he resisted the urge to snuggle into it, although clearly Thomas knew if the little sardonic smile playing on his lips was anything to go by. “Although, I’m just saying, if you have enough time to knit me a sodding jumper then we’re not spending nearly enough time in bed and that needs to be rectified.”

He was rewarded with a dry laugh and warm kiss. “Never change, Allan.”


End file.
